Advance Wars: The Peacetime Battles
by Triad and VI
Summary: The Wars that have plagued their world are over. Now in a newfound state of peace, how are COs of war to make a living? Get a job? Sure, why not? Chapter 2 Up, after over a year. Not our fault.
1. The Mall Santa Chronicles

Authors' Notes: Hey there, Triad Orion and Village Idiot here. Here we are writing an Advance Wars story together, so beware the oncoming stuff. It could prove to be dangerous if you don't have any sort of sense of humor.  
  
Well, anyway, we thought it would be pretty funny to see how the AW COs would handle some part time jobs. So, we wrote it! Enjoy!  
  
Disclaimer: We don't own Advance Wars. Surprise surprise.  
  
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The battles that had ravaged Wars World were over. The peace that had been disrupted by Sturm's ambition had returned when Hawke had turned on his old ally and cast him down once the Death Ray had been destroyed. So, what now would the people who had devoted their lives to war do? Because everyone has to make money, right?  
  
"Aren't you a little tall for an elf?!" Olaf stood in full Santa swag, looking down at Grit, who was dressed in a green tunic with long red and white striped stockings. Because what mall is complete around Christmas time that doesn't have a Santa and his friendly elf?  
  
"Now look here, Frosty. I won't have any sass out of you, Santa. You may be a commanding officer, but I still got this here revolver hidden somewhere." Grit's long pointy hat stood atop his head; it looked so positively idiotic that it took any seriousness out of his threat and made it nothing more than a mere jest.  
  
"You're addressing a commanding officer! Answer me when I ask you a question!"  
  
"I did answer you, O Bearded One."  
  
"You know what? I'm the Santa Claus here. The elves have to do what Santa says! Besides, who are the kids getting their picture taken with? You or Santa? Now shut your mouth and start giving out the candy canes."  
  
"As you wish, my master." Grit said with such a blast of sarcasm that it would've made the Death Ray look like a squirt gun. Olaf shot Grit an icy glare, but Grit merely shrugged it off like it was a flurry rather than a raging blizzard. With that, Olaf put on his Santa hat and he walked out into the main lobby of the Orange Star Mall.  
  
There sat the very chair where he was supposed to sit, sitting next to all the other Santa-themed elements in the area. You know, the tiny little house, the sleigh, something that resembled an Elvish workshop, and some stuffed reindeer. As Olaf took his place at the chair, a thought crossed his mind that he quickly conveyed to Grit.  
  
"You know Grit, I really miss my old chair."  
  
"Beg your pardon?"  
  
"You know, my old chair. From Advance Wars one."  
  
"Advanc-what who now?"  
  
"You know? A Gameboy Advance game?"  
  
"Y'all lost me. Have you been dipping into the orange juice again, boss?"  
  
"I told you never to bring up orange juice in my presence again!"  
  
"Better sit down, Olaf. I reckon the kids are starting to line up outside. Looks like we might be busy for awhile." With that, the newly appointed mall Santa sat down and Grit, his trusty and faithful elf companion, stood next to him. The security guards opened the front door and the line of kids proceeded forward, the first child quickly climbing into Olaf's lap.  
  
"Ho ho ho! Have you been a good boy this year, son?"  
  
"Of course I have, Santa!"  
  
"That's great. Now, what would you like for Christmas, lad?"  
  
"Hey Santa, have you been putting on weight?" The kid asked, innocently, but with a smile.  
  
"Beg pardon?!"  
  
"Yeah, you should go on the Atkin's Diet! That will help you get rid of that fat!"  
  
"I'm not fat!" Olaf bellowed.  
  
"Sure, he's not fat; he's just big boned." Grit said before tacking on a sly whisper to Olaf. "And fat."  
  
"Shut it, Elf."  
  
"Santa, why are you being mean to your helper?"  
  
"Because my helper hasn't made it on to my nice list this year." Olaf said, shooting a glare to the now grinning Grit. "Now, what do you want for this year?"  
  
"I want a train set, and some dominoes, and a new bike, and a 'Little People's I'm A Big Marketer Now!' set! I want to go into marketing when I get older! Maybe even call people up on the telephone and tell them how great stuff is!"  
  
"Just. just, go." Olaf said, gently pushing the kid off his rather large lap. "Next please." The next kid climbed up onto Olaf's lap and the phony Saint Nick began his bogus role all over again. "Hello son, what can I get for you this year?"  
  
"Hi Santa! I like your clothes. They're red. I like red. My parents told me that the reds will overrun the world in a glorious victory over the capitalists dogs!"  
  
"Oh really? And what do your parents have to say about the glorious general of the Blue Moon army, Olaf?"  
  
"They say he's a capitalist dog who wears the color blue. They don't like blue. But for Christmas I want a red flag, and a hammer, and a sickle, and domination over the western world for all my comrades! Oh, and a rap CD!"  
  
"Rap?! Be gone from my sight! I won't have any of this new age nonsense near me! I'm Santa Claus!"  
  
"And isn't rap kind of against your thought kid? I mean, ain't it some capitalist thing? You asked for all the, ya know, well. . .yeah." Grit never had time to finish talking to the kid, though, for Olaf had quickly ushered him away, constantly mumbling under his breath the horrors of rap music. They watched as the child was picked up by his two parents, both of which were clad in red with small hammer/sickle symbols planted on their backs.  
  
"Now that is something to worry about. Want me to call the cops Frosty?" Grit looked warily at the retreating couple and their son.  
  
"For liking rap music? Is that a crime now? Took them long enough." Grit turned to look at Olaf and shook his head, letting the next kid in.  
  
"Ho ho ho! Have you been a good little girl this year?" Olaf said, faking a jolly voice.  
  
"Shouldn't you already know? Haven't you been watching?!" The girl asked incredulously.  
  
"Well, I just thought I'd see what you had to say. Now, what can I get you for . . ."  
  
"Can the pleasantries! I know you're not Santa!"  
  
"Of course he's Santa." Grit cut in. "Look at him. He's old, he's got a beard, and he's fat. A guy like that has to be Santa. There's no way a man with that build could be anything else." The sharpshooter mused.  
  
"And you're not any better! What are you supposed to be, a Keebler elf?"  
  
"Hey now, y'all, that's just downright unneighborly."  
  
"And what kind of elf speaks with a southern twang anyway?!"  
  
"My shooting iron speaks with a southern twang too. Care to hear?" The girl arched an eyebrow at this and returned her comments to Santa, the original target.  
  
"Anyway, your very existence is impossible. There is no DNA evidence supporting the existence of you, your elves, or your stupid reindeer that look very much stuffed."  
  
"Well actually, y'all never did gone and studied your genetics well, didja?" Grit pointed out. "You see, a certain mutation in the 32X gene allowed the existence of. . ."  
  
"Now you're just making stuff up, elf-boy."  
  
With this comment, Grit whipped out his revolver and gave a quick reply: "Teddy says I'm not lying. So why not just be a good girl and tell Frosty what you want."  
  
"I want a cell phone please." The girl smiled, as she got off Olaf's lap and walked away.  
  
"I suppose no job is complete without a disbeliever." Olaf sighed.  
  
"Boss, I could still cap her from here. Do you want me to take the shot?" However, before Olaf could answer, a new kid had jumped into his lap.  
  
This girl, though, was not like the other. Her skin was pale white, and her hair was the most jet black color you could imagine. And Olaf's draw dropped in a mix of surprise and fear as he saw her, because this little girl was one genius who had made the last war a lot harder than the first one. Lash sat staring at him.  
  
"Hi Olaf! Or rather, I should say Santa. I wouldn't want to ruin Flak's fun now, would I?" She smiled and nodded towards the burly, ape-like man who stood in next in line. Even all the way from Santa's pseudo-throne, you could hear him saying "Oh boy Oh boy! I'm gonna meet Santa! My dream come true!"  
  
Olaf, still recovering from shock, worked to recover his composure. He put on a false smile, and said, "What would you like for Christmas young lady? And I hope you've been good." Then he quickly muttered under his breath, "Aside from creating weapons of death and destruction."  
  
"I heard that," came Lash's reply. "And I want. . .A laser, and a Death Ray, and a Black Cannon, and a Mini Cannon, and. . .a pony!"  
  
Olaf sat dumbfounded. Grit gave her a sidelong glance and said, "A pony? You want a pony girl?"  
  
"Tee-hee-hee," came Lash's reply. "I'm a little girl, aren't I? I reserve the right to want a pony for Christmas! But I shouldn't keep Flak waiting, now should I?" She smiled. "Toodles!" She quickly leapt up and nodded at Flak, who began to hop up and down with excitement.  
  
Olaf watched, horrified, as the large man walked forward, a ridiculous grin spread across his face. Grit, on the other hand, was doing his best to stifle his laughter as he saw the large Black Hole CO plump down in Olaf's lap, causing "Frosty" to let out a gasp of shock.  
  
Coughing, Olaf said, "And what would you like for Christmas.ah.young man?" Watching, Grit could hardly keep his wits together, and quickly took a few steps to the side, and began to laugh haughtily. Flak, on the other hand, saw nothing funny about this important and profound event in his life.  
  
"Santa! I want a pony! And.um.an Easy Bake Oven! Oh, and an Encyclopedia Britannica! "  
  
Olaf sat, very, very confused, as well as very uncomfortable, looking desperately for Grit's help. Unable to find the gun toting shooter, he tried to hastily get rid of Flak.  
  
"That's great son. I'm sure you'll find that last one in your stocking. Now hurry off, your friend is waiting!" Disappointed that the monumental event had ended, Flak stood up and walked out with Lash. Sighing with relief, Olaf took a minute to catch his breath. Suddenly Grit was back at his side, a grin spread across his face.  
  
"So, did you have fun with that last one, oh illustrious leader?"  
  
"Grit. . .you just wait. I'll get you yet boy. But lets get this last kid in so we can go!"  
  
Unfortunately for Olaf, this last boy was far from the best boy he could've gotten. No, in fact, it was probably the worst. Like the very gates of Hell itself opened just so all the demons and lost souls could laugh at the overweight CO's plight. Yes, the worst possible thing had happened. A boy with spiked hair clad in an insultingly loud orange jumpsuit ran up to Olaf and Grit.  
  
"SANTA!" Andy yelled, bounding over like Olaf was some kind of rare novelty item. "Santa Santa Santa Santa!" Andy exclaimed, hopping into Olaf's lap.  
  
"Andy?!" Olaf exclaimed.  
  
"Wow, you know my name, Santa? That's cool. How did you do that?"  
  
"Uh, I'm Santa?"  
  
"That he is, Junior."  
  
"Wow, your elf sounds a lot like this guy I know." Andy paused. "And don't call me Junior!"  
  
"Have you been a good boy this year, child?"  
  
"I helped stop an invasion! That counts, right?!" The mechanic said with a stupid grin on his face. Meanwhile, a nearby janitor walked by as he was sweeping the floor and muttered in a mechanical voice:  
  
"Stupid kids."  
  
"Well, uh. what can I get you for Christmas, son?"  
  
"Uh, I want a new wrench, and some cheese, and ooh, a wrench made of cheese! Ooh, I also want for Max a new Medium Tank and I would like for Sami to relax and stop giving me the evil eye! And that guy Grit could use a new gun! Grit's cool. 'Cept when he calls me Junior."  
  
"Well, isn't he the most generous boy?" Grit mused to Olaf. The sharpshooter was pondering just what kind of gun Andy had in mind. . . he could use a new rifle.  
  
"Anything else for anyone else?"  
  
"Ooh, and for Olaf, I want him to get rain. He likes rain, right, Santa?"  
  
"Hardly." Olaf grumped.  
  
"Well, lastly, I hope Sonja gets whatever she wants."  
  
"And what DOES Sonja want, Junior?" Grit asked, doing his best to stifle his laughter once more.  
  
"ANDY!" A loud voice shouted from across the room.  
  
"Uh oh! Santa, save me from the crazy clipboard wielding woman!" Andy exclaimed, trying to hide behind Olaf.  
  
"Andy! You said you were going to help me Christmas shop for my father and then take me out to dinner!" Sonja said, walking up to the hiding mechanic.  
  
"I did?" Andy asked, bewildered.  
  
"Just be quiet and come on." Sonja replied, grabbing him by the ankles and dragging him across the mall, his fingernails leaving deep trenches in the tile flooring. "We've got a lot more stuff to do."  
  
"Aaaaah! Save me, Santa!" Andy called out. "Save me from the super-smart seeing woman!"  
  
"You know, sometimes it's okay to shut up and act civilized." She said to him.  
  
"That's awfully hard, dear." Andy replied.  
  
"Kids and their little flings." Grit chuckled. "Looks like Junior's got his hands full eh, boss?"  
  
"He wanted to give me rain. Serves him right." Olaf grouched.  
  
"Well, I reckon that takes care of today's work. Come on, boss; this elf suit is chafing." Grit whined as he and Olaf left their post from their first day of work.  
  
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Authors' Notes: What did you think? Feedback would be much appreciated! 


	2. Flak's Great Space Race

So we take forever. Don't blame us, we play video games. Uh, wait. No. I mean it snowed, and all our movement was reduced to half speed. Right.

Now, let us introduce the fury of… Flak's Story.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

The day was cold and snowy all over northern Orange Star. The flakes drifted past the sign of one of the largest science firms in all of Wars World. The sign was a large rectangle with the name of the company and its essential catch phrase.

"Diagnostic Universal Mechanical Miracles - We may be DUMM, but we ain't stupid!"

This company was the proud employer of such scientists as Edward Newington, Richard Bossark, and a bunch of other people you've never heard of either. Oh, yeah, and it employed Flak too. No one's really sure why, but apparently some HR had too much orange juice, some people got fired afterwards, and no one is really willing to tell him to leave.

Hell, would you?

Anyway, that fateful day was Flak's twelfth day as a gainfully employed successful member of society. For some unknown reason, Flak felt this day to be one of celebration, so he came into work today in his favorite lab coat, which was more of a Kevlar jacket really, and his lucky rubber ducky necktie. As he stepped into the bright and sterile foyer through the shiny glass lobby doors, he wore a massive grin on his gorilla-like face. This was going to be yet another great day for work. He was ready to take on the science world head on.

He walked past his co-workers, who often hid from him. Flak always thought that they were shy, but none of the scientists really had the heart to tell the oversized CO that he had the body odor of a dead skunk. Well, maybe not so much the heart to tell him as the stupidity. Either way, Flak descended onto his workstation in the lab with the single minded tenacity of a rainbow trout. He quickly pulled out his toolset from underneath his desk and looked over everything.

"Let's see here…" He said, dumping the contents all over his desk. "Gravy ladle… check, five pound bag of lime… check, #2 pencil… check, football… check, the transmission out of Adder's car… check, wrench… check…" He continued, sorting through all of his… tools… carefully. "Looks like everything's here!" He laughed heartily, scaring the scientists at the workstations around him. Flak exchanged glances with each of them, seeing most of them with a nervous and frightful twitch.

"Man, you guys drink too much coffee. And I thought you guys were supposed to be… you know… not… dumb?"

Meanwhile, Sonja sat at the desk a few feet from Flak's lab table. Dressed in a standard business jacket with a green dress, she was armed with a computer, a clipboard, a telephone, and the general tools of the secretarial trade. Oh, and she was about as mad as a swarm of hornets living between a RAID factory and the Orkin Man Headquarters.

"This is ridiculous!" she muttered under her breath. Flak, unaware of her comments, turned and grinned broadly at her. She returned a halfhearted smile and turned back to typing. "Why am I secretary to a bumbling fool like him?" From a darkened behind her a stout, powerful, oriental voice bellowed out.

"All young girls must learn discipline! It is good for their training!" Kanbei emerged from the room, the true symbol of the proud leader of one of the most powerful nations in the world. Well…almost. Dressed in his full General's attire, he wore creamy yellow pants wrapped in an eastern fashion and large brown combat boots. The only problem was he was naked form the waist up. "Ah, Sonja? Have you seen my shirt?"

"It's probably in your travel bag, Father. And what's this about learning discipline! I've commanded an army in two wars! Two!"

"Don't be ridiculous. I'd remember something like that. Now now, get to work."

Sonja shot her father an indignant look, which he failed to notice as he left.

"Now then, miss… um… crazy seeing lady!" Flak called to her. "I needs your help figuring out the flux capacitor theory of this… thingamajig."

"Why would I know?" Sonja called back. "Apparently I'm just here to keep your appointments and somehow learn discipline from you. Never mind that your toolbox contains everything but a rubber chicken."

"Wait, you're right! My chicken is gone!" Flak cried out, distraught. "Miss seeing lady! You gotsta help me find my chicken! My next project won't work without it!" Flak promptly sat on the ground and started bawling like an enormous body-armor clad baby.

Sonja immediately questioned the value of something like a rubber chicken in a true scientific experiment, but in order to keep Flak from flooding the floor with his tears (which he was already doing markedly well), she decided to help him. "Okay, okay, Flak. Take it easy. When was the last time you remember having your rubber chicken?"

"Well… I remember yesterday when I was working on the brand new engine turbines he was there to help clean up… and..." Flak paused. "I don't remember anything else. Ooh, except dinner! I had this _huge_ porterhouse steak at Greasy's. That, and some of those cheese fries. Man, they were good! I want some." Flak's river of tears had stopped, but sadly for Sonja, it only gave way to a stream of saliva as he drooled thinking about his favorite food.

Disgusted, Sonja decided to bring up another possibility. "Did you talk to the project leader? He might know where your…vital… tool is."

"Someone say my name!" An all too familiar voice called out from the entrance. Sonja muttered a string of silent curses and put her head in her hands immediately. Why did it have to be him? Why did he have to lead the most advanced scientific facility in all of Orange Star when he couldn't even tie his own shoelaces without destroying half a city block? As she turned around, her worst fear, her worst nightmare, came true as the orange-clad scientist bounded up, oversized wrenches in hand. "Hey, dear! When did you start working here?"

"This morning. Father thought I lacked discipline, even after helping to fend off the Black Hole invasions twice."

"Well, that's ridiculous. You have more…'Ciplines' than anyone could ever disrespect. Whatever that means." Andy said, scratching the back of his head. "Wait, where am I again?" He suddenly turned and seemed to be looking at the wall past Sonja. His eyes began to grow wide in horror, and he pointed behind her and shouted, "Sonja! Look out behind you!" He quickly tackled her to the ground, sending her chair awry and causing a mess of the papers on her desk.

Aggravated, Sonja pushed the boy off of her and stood up. She turned to face this supposed threat from behind, but there was nothing to see.

"Andy there's nothing there but a wall!"

"I know! Those things are treacherous!"

Fuming, Sonja turned back to Andy who now looked more ridiculous then before. Each of his wrenches were resting behind his ears, a feat which seemed to defy most of the basic principles of…well any kind of science you can think of. He wore a more befuddled expression then usual. He turned to Sonja, his look completely perplexed.

"Sonja? Have you seen my wrenches, I think I lost them." Flak looked up at Andy from his salivating, not noticing the large metal tools lodged on the sides of his head.

"You lost your wrenches? I lost my chicken! We're doomed!" Sonja's face was beginning to get more and more livid as the seconds passed. Finally, she seemed to snap.

"ANDY! Your wrenches are on your head! They are behind your ears! Please, for the love of all that is holy and good, look behind your ears!"

"Sonja, you're silly. If they were there I would have noticed by now. And was your face always that shade of purple?" At this point Kanbei walked back in, his shirt on. It was backwards, but it was better then nothing.

"Sonja! What is this? I knew you had to learn some discipline, and this proves it! Your desk is in disarray, your boss is crying and/or salivating, and the R&D manager is missing his tools and you refuse to act responsibly and help him find them! I'm ashamed of you!"

"But…but…Father…and he…then…" abruptly she stopped talking and sat down, picking her notes back up and going back to work.

"Now then, Andy my boy," Kanbei began. "Let's find those wrenches of yours." The emperor of Yellow Comet quickly strolled past Andy and Flak to the test platform near Flak's desk. Atop it stood the prototype rocket Flak had been working on in his short stint at the company. The rocket, however, was little more than a series of metal trash cans stuck together with chewing gum, paper clips, and duct tape. On the side of the cans, Flak had made sure to paint proper markings:

"_Teh Propertah of Orange 5tar. Falk pwnz!"_

Okay, maybe the markings weren't proper. But they were markings, and boy, the pink paint really sold the message. And the incorrect spelling? And the use of the number five instead of an "s?" Purely poetic license on the part of the genius that was Flak.

"Say, what is this contraption, Dr. Flak?" Kanbei asked, pointing at the mess.

"I'm a doctor?" Flak asked, confused and bewildered. "Oh yeah! The thing! That's my volcano for the science fair! I'm going to win me a blue ribbon! Lash will be so proud of me!"

"A volcano, you say?" Kanbei inquired, looking closer. "It looks like one of Andy's wrenches landed in here." He quickly reached into one of the trashcans, and pulled out a large, oddly shaped and heavy object. "Nope, my bad. It's just a hobo." With a careless and fluid toss over his shoulder, he sent the rather lost hobo into the air, where he promptly landed on both Andy and Flak. The sudden concussion dislodged the wrenches from Andy's ears and knocked Flak's prized helmet clean off.

By this point, Sonja had stopped wanting to ask questions. She was much busier rifling through Flak's toolbox looking for anything that she might be able to commit suicide with. After the rather terrified hobo had ran screaming out of the lab, she turned to Flak, who was actually being chewed out by Andy.

"Flak, don't you know it's DUMM policy to empty all trashcans before bringing them into the lab! Do you know how many weeks we've been set back due to severe hobo contamination! The HAZMAT teams will spend weeks trying to get the stains out of the floor."

Sonja walked over, and placed a calming hand on Andy's shoulder, doing her best not to grind her teeth. "Andy, dear… the company has no such policy and you know it."

"I do? Well, apparently I don't." He said with a confused grin. "Either way, you know better. You see things." Suddenly, a sudden shine caught the corner of his eye. He turned his head to see his wrenches, sitting in pristine condition on the ground nearby. "My wrenches!" He cried out, lunging for them. He quickly swept them up into his arms and hugged them tightly.

Meanwhile, Flak soon noticed his helmet was missing in action. Thinking quickly, he scooped it back up into his hands, only to discover his missing chicken sitting in it. "Fernandez! We found you!" He cried out, pulling the rubber chicken from his helmet. He held up the chicken high into the air and cried out, "You've come home! At last!"

Sonja sighed. "Flak, he was only gone for two hours. At the most." By this point, Flak had already started dancing around the lab, swinging the rubber chicken around in the air. With yet another sigh of frustration, she simply shrugged, and turned back to her own desk.

"Fernandez! Get on your pilot's outfit and prepare for the launch!" Flak's gleeful grin shone brilliantly as he assembled the last pieces of his "volcano."

Sonja suffered a moment of confusion as she began to comprehend exactly what Flak was going to do. She then began to consider if she should try to stop him or just let him blow up the facility as he surely would. If he didn't do it now he probably would later. After a few moments of consideration, she decided that the human race should, perhaps, be given another day anyway.

"Flak! Flak, what is that thing! I thought it was a volca-! Wait! Why are you pouring gasoline in there? Stop that!"

"What're you talking about, seeing lady? I gotsta launch my ship and talk to the Marvins."

"Do you mean Martians?"

"Marshas?"

"Martians!"

"Right, right, Lithuanians."

Sonja just shook her head and turned back to her desk. "…never mind. You know you're going to kill all of us, right?"

"You don't have to worry about that good seeing person – Fernandez is piloting! Everything's going to be just fine – you'll see."

"That's what I'm afraid of"

- - - - - - - - - - - -

"Hey, nice launch pad, Flak!" Andy exclaimed, looking at what once resembled an old playground. The jungle gym was completely misshapen and bent into a launch platform, with the slide and swing set providing support to the pad itself. Truth be told, the entire assembly looked shoddy, like it was constructed by a seven year old.

"I haven't seen construction of this quality since the missile silos in my homeland were finished!" The emperor cried, amazed at the whole debacle. "Who on earth designed this magnificent platform?"

"Well, Lash drew up the blueprint things… and I followed them the best I could, but I couldn't find this 'industrial adhesive' she kept talking about, so I just used chewing gum and paper clips. It's all the same stuff, anyway." Flak replied.

"I think it turned out great, Flak!" Andy laughed.

"Yeah, you're freaking Leonardo DaVinci, Flak." Sonja grumbled, putting her face in her hands.

"No way… I'm not some stupid turtle."

"I… what?" Sonja asked. Flak opened his gaping maw to reply, but Sonja cut him off immediately. "No. I'm better off not knowing. Just… just start up the launch protocols so I can get home and pretend that none of this ever happened."

"But Sonja, we have a date tonight, don't we?" Andy asked, looking confused.

"Don't remind me, dear." She said, doing her best to push back a migraine from forming in her head. "Just get to work, okay!"

Flak's grin spread as he began his final preparations. "OK good seeing lady! To…place!"

Sonja scratched her head and looked up at Flak. "Flak, where precisely are you sending this rocket?"

"I dunno. That's your job lady."

Kanbei turned to look at his daughter, a scowl forming across his face. "What? Sonja! How could you forget to choose a destination…place…thingy! That's the most important thing ever…other then finding my socks, of course. Oh, and Chef Boy-ar-dee!"

Sonja looked at her father, her face flushing slightly in frustration. She decided to steer the conversation to what she thought would be "safer ground."

"Father, I thought you liked Spaghetti-os." For a moment, the entire world was still. Slowly, Kanbei turned his head to face his daughter, his face tormented with anger and disappointment.

"What blasphemy is this! No daughter of mine shall disrespect the might of Chef Boy-ar-dee in my presence! I angers! For the honor of my family and my daughter, I challenge you to a duel!"

"Father, I'm your daughter; and you're a Samurai – they don't 'duel.'"

"Lies! Oh…wait…nope, you're right." Kanbei replied, opening a can of Spaghetti-os and consuming the entire container in one fell swoop. "So where are you sending the rocket?"

"Well, according to this report that I received from the higher-ups…" Sonja replied, looking at her ever-present clipboard, "We are supposed to send the rocket to Alpha Centauri."

"Does that mean we win the game?" Andy inquisitively asked.

"No, dear. Life isn't a video game, okay? Flak, ready the co-ordinates to launch for Alpha Centauri!"

"What?" Flak asked, leaning on the big red launch button. "Too late! My way's more fun!" The rocket's engines fired off, sending plumes of curling smoke skyward, propelling the man made… wonder… into space, to the deep reaches beyond. "Good luck, Fernendez! I'm counting on you! And don't forget to bring me some take out! And a moon rock!"

Andy, Kanbei, and Flak waved powerfully into the air at the quickly disappearing rocket, genuinely happy to see the brave rubber chicken begin his space odyssey. He would make Orange Star proud, they were sure of it. Sonja, on the other hand, merely did her best to resist the urge to impale Flak on her clipboard for wasting the precious resources of Orange Star. Instead, she simply decided to count to ten, walk away, and go get a Slushie from a conveniently placed gas station.

- - - - - - - - - - - -

He sat in his house, reading his newspaper glumly. The last war on Wars World had cost his forces dearly, and he was the laughingstock of his whole planet when he returned. Never mind that he was the overlord of that planet, the people still laughed at him in mechanical voices and such. He even was made fun of on TV, which was broadcasted all over the universe, including the planet Omicron Persei 8. His defeat would not look good among all the other evil overlords in the universe.

Sturm was even tempted to open a web blog about all of his troubles, but then he remembered that the internet was already too filled with people complaining and spreading misinformation. Okay, it wasn't quite that so much as that he had a crappy 56K connection. He really needed to get his imperial palace broadband.

But that was all for the future. Today was a day for rest, relaxation, and absolutely nothing about Wars World. Sturm sat back in his easy chair and let the newspaper set down in his lap as he began to doze off into a peaceful sleep.

But after a few moments of blissful rest Sturm was slowly awakened by what appeared to be a loud shrieking noise coming from above. Sturm, confused, stared up towards to ceiling of his palace as the noise appeared to grow in volume. Just as he began to consider hiding in the basement for safety, a volcano shaped rocket came crashing through the ceiling, leaving a big hole in the roof of his palace. It bounced twice, knocked over a precious lamp, and landed at his feet, a rubber chicken spilling on to the floor. Slowly, fearfully, Sturm turned over the rocket to reveal the crude writing sketched into the side. Seeing it, his face contorted into fear and hatred.

The only words on it were scribbled in a pink sharpie - "Falk Pwns!" it read, filling Sturm with spite he had not felt since that traveling salesman compared him to a vacuum cleaner. Slowly Sturm stood, and stared at the sky, unleashing himself into the most primordial scream to be heard in hundreds of years –

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" The echoing screech resonated through the palace and into the yard beyond.

Beckoned by the rancor of noise, Hawke walked into the room and examined the scene around him. Chaos would be a flattering term at best to describe the shock of anarchy which the scene portrayed. Sturm stood near the center of the room with his arms thrown back, his head tilted towards the sky as he continued his ridiculous scream. At his feet sat something that was either a volcano, a rocket, or Lash's latest project gone awry.

And next to that stood the most disturbing thing of all.

A rubber chicken sat a few feet to Sturm's left lying innocently on the floor. And next to him sat a bright orange flag on a small pole. And upon that flag there was an orange star embedded right in the middle. And upon that star was a bunch of scribbling which could be made out into things like "Falk pwns!" "Andy 4tw!" and "I am Kanbei!"

Hawke shook his head, muttering something about cliché's and possible copyright infringement as he walked away. Just another day on this forsaken planet, it seemed.

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Author's Note: Yeah. Snow. That's our excuse and we're sticking to it. Darn Olaf and his CO Powers. We'll update sooner next time. Maybe.


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